


Darcy Lewis vs. Douche Bag 4.0

by cat_77



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Retribution, borderline domestic abuse (not Bucky)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 00:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12469748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77
Summary: She handled the situation, just not up to the standards of the others.





	Darcy Lewis vs. Douche Bag 4.0

**Author's Note:**

> For the “bruises” entry at hc_bingo.
> 
> * * *

She wasn't eavesdropping. Not really. She was at her desk, doing her job, and someone came in to advise her boss that they would like said boss to help out on another matter. That matter would undoubtedly involve her what with her helping her boss, so it only made sense that she paid at least cursory attention to what was going on around her, even if she had all sorts of different matters of her own she was actively ignoring at the time.

Plus the fact that the messenger was easy on the eyes was seriously playing with her concentration levels.

"Actually, you have perfect timing," Jane said, and Darcy couldn't agree more. A pretty distraction was exactly what she needed. Probably not what Jane was going for though, as confirmed by, "I'm in a holding pattern until Stark fixes, well, the giant hole where my transmitter should be, so this works out great. Darcy, can you do your thingy where my phone beeps when it's Tony calling to grovel?"

"Yes ma'am!" she replied. She would have mock-saluted, but still didn't know if Captain Actual America would find that sacrilegious or something - she was still getting used to him and didn't want to push it. She went to do precisely what was requested, but forgot to hold back her wince and mutter when the simple action rebelled against her. Apparently her mind thought the salute was improper but was fine with the profanity around a national icon - go figure.

She continued on with her task anyway, despite the fact that there was a distinctly icon-shaped shadow now cast over her work area. "What'd you do?" Steve asked in a far too casual of voice.

She wasn't going to fall for it, but she also knew she couldn't avoid it completely. "Banged the crap out of my wrist," she admitted. "Ibuprofen must be wearing off."

She could hear the silent conversation going on next to her, even as she concentrated on clicking the right buttons instead. It came as absolutely no surprise when Jane said, for about the fiftieth time that morning, "You know you have actual medical insurance now, right? Not just the crap student version?"

"It's fine," she waved her off for the corresponding number of times.

"It's turning the color of your shirt and is severely swollen," Steve countered. She refused to look up. He'd be using his puppy dog eyes, and there was no way she could withstand those. "That's more than banging it on something, Ms. Lewis. Would you care to share what actually happened?"

She sighed, tried to picture puppies frolicking in a field, and then sighed again when the puppies all wore red, white, and blue spangled collars. She could do this. She turned and stared directly at his left ear to avoid the whole eye-thing, and replied, "Not really, but it's not like you're going to let this go, so, here's the simple truth: I fell. It hurts. It'll be fine."

"If you fell on premises, it's a work-related injury and fully covered to be treated by Stark Medical. If you fell off premises, you may of course choose the clinic of your choice, but I do suggest you choose one and visit today," he said. It sounded like he was reading for a commercial, but with that extra emphasis that sounded like he truly cared.

She was a goner.

"If I go, will you two leave me alone about it?" she relented.

"Maybe," he said at the same time Jane admitted, "Probably not."

Still her best option to give in at this point though. Maybe they'd even give her something stronger than the ibuprofen that was doing nearly nothing in the first place. Maybe she'd be given a day off and could Netflix her pain away. Either worked for her, really.

Which is how she found herself headed towards Medical. It was where they treated everything from Avenger-related injuries to Brian that time he accidentally stabbed himself with a pen. She'd been given the tour but had never been a patient before now. Why she had an entourage of two with her, she had no idea.

There was no bulky x-ray machine, just a fancy slightly over-sized hand scanner. Her wrist was declared caput, and plans were made to put her in a fancy yet bulky wrap to fully immobilize the sucker for several days while she healed. Her current tightly-fitted awesomely periwinkle sweater was either going to have to be sliced to make room for the wrap or be removed in advance to save it. Considering it was a fave, she wrestled with the sleeve one-handed until Jane slapped her good hand away and yanked it off herself.

That's when she realized she was screwed.

She had a tank top on underneath so there were no modesty issues with the usually overly chivalrous Cap. There was, however, no sleeves either, which meant she had totally walked right into what happened next.

"Darcy..." Jane warned. Whether the warning was telling her what was to come or chiding her for earning it, Darcy really couldn't tell.

"What happened?" Steve demanded. It was not nearly as sexy as she had imagined to be at the receiving end of his Command Voice. In truth, it was something she would recommend avoiding in the future.

"Nothing," she hedged, even though she knew it was worthless.

"Those are from fingers. I can count them from here. You have practically an entire hand outlined on your arm," Steve ground out. "What happened?" he repeated.

She held out her arm to the nurse that was totally not listening in save for the part she totally was. The woman dutifully began applying whatever wrap Stark had come up with this time, face far too tense for Darcy's liking.

"It's nothing!" she repeated.

"I must advise you that this department follows the current industry standard of reporting all suspected abuse to the proper authorities," the nurse recited with an undercurrent that warned she didn't care who the perpetrator was, she would go after them herself if necessary.

"Fine!" she gave in with a huff. "Douche Bag couldn't take no for an answer. Douche Bag regrets his life choices. End of story! For real!"

The tenseness was rolling off of Steve in waves, and so she finally dared to glance up in his direction to see a face so pensive it could substitute for the definition of the word. Like, seriously, she would never have to look that sucker up again, she could just remember the expression being thrown her way. "Lewis, Darcy, did... We knew flashbacks were still a possibility, but..."

And she got it, she really did. Holy hell she did. This is what she deserved for proclaiming she refused to ever call her asshole exes by their names and would only refer to them as Douche Bag 1.0, Douche Bag 2.0, and so on. This is also what she deserved for not clarifying the status of a completely different relationship to an overly nosy friend.

"Rogers, Cap, whatever you want to be called when you're this serious... Bucky and I had coffee, as in literal coffee shop coffee, a couple of weeks ago. Since then, he has brought me lunch and we've chatted while stuffing our faces with junk food a couple of times. He's terrified of anything more yet, I'm not. This was not him. He was and probably always will be a perfect gentleman," she insisted. Then, for emphasis' sake, she repeated, "This was not him. James Buchanan Barnes was not involved."

Steve seemed to believe her as he visibly relaxed nearly a whole notch. "Then who?" he asked instead.

"No names. Ask Jane my opinion of giving Douche Bags the honor of such recognition," she insisted. "It's handled. Done. Over with. Caput."

"Is this why you asked if you could room with me for a few days?" Jane asked skeptically. Darcy glared at her, but felt the effect was lessened by her wince as the wrap was locked down. The sucker continued to move and adjust after the nurse tapped it into place, and it was the scary edge of cool.

"Doesn't sound too handled to me," Steve pointed out. He was back in overly-casual and overly-protective mode, which was not necessarily actually better.

The nurse released her arm fully and Darcy tested her range of mobility, finding it annoyingly restricted. Seeing that they were waiting for a response, even if the nurse really had no reason to as far as she was concerned, she ground out a sullen, "So, Douche Bag 4.0 might have possibly made himself a copy of the key to my place somehow and I might have possibly woken up to him being in my kitchen and I might have possibly wished to avoid him for a while until he got bored and moved on. It's not like he ever had any stamina to hold out for long anyway. Give it a day, maybe two, and I should be out of leftover pizza and he should be gone."

"That's not handling it," Jane said, pointing out the obvious.

"Sure it is," Darcy protested. "He'll be gone, I change the locks, life moves on!"

"I'm still legally required to report the incident," the nurse told her. "I can leave names out if you refuse to give them, but it is far easier to track repeat offenses if you provide full disclosure."

"Is it enough if I say that he came in, I went out, he made a grab for me and I kicked him and left? Because nothing else happened. Well, I mean, I fell into the door jamb when I pulled free which is how I screwed up my wrist, but that's it, I swear. I even managed to avoid the cliched falling down the steps."

The nurse looked skeptical, and then Darcy realized how weird Stark Medical was when she asked the literal air around her, "Does that suffice for a report?"

"Recording began upon the recitation of the disclaimer," a computerized voice intoned. "If the patient confirms the testimonial and refuses the logging of further physical injuries, it will be logged as complete. Industry standard requests a location and approximate timeframe, but these can be waived by completing an additional form."

Darcy resisted the urge to bang her head against something, mainly because she couldn't find anything solid enough within reach unless you counted Steve's pecs. "I hate you all," she grumbled under her breath. Louder, she declared, "Yes, I confirm the testimony even though I didn't know I was giving one. Yes, I refuse further logging of nonexistent injuries. Yes, I confirm that this took place at my registered place of residence at approximately seven-thirty this morning. Done?"

"The report has been logged," the voice confirmed. She breathed a sigh of relief, right up until the damned thing asked, "Captain Rogers, do you wish to log your presence as witness to this testimony as a civilian or in your role as a member of the Avengers Initiative?"

There had been a lab incident right when they had moved in where he had gone all official with the paperwork. The follow up process was horrendous. She had gotten an email update on the sucker as recently as the day before. No way did she want to go through that just because some jerk broke into her apartment. "Don't do it," she pleaded, already knowing what his choice would be. Stupid American hero.

"Sorry, Ms. Lewis, but I was made aware of the injury while contacting your office for official Avengers' business and that business was delayed due to treatment of your injury. Protocol demands-"

"Protocol does not demand that you get to scare the crap out of my ex," she cut him off. He called her by her last name. Again. He only did that when he was especially concerned or about to pull something he knew she wouldn't like.

He continued on anyway, same officious tone even if he smirked when he said, "Protocol demands I log this officially." There was a gleam to his eyes when he added, "The scaring the crap out of a bully is just a bonus."

The nurse seemed oddly pleased about that, as did Jane. She was just glad Thor wasn't around because Steve settled for a report and Janie's honey would need to be talked down from righteous vengeance or some such thing. 

The computer system wrapped everything up and sent a file number to her phone. She didn't even bother bitching and just settled for glaring at Mr. Righteous while the nurse got her discharge papers and painkillers sorted. She didn't recognize the name of what was prescribed, which meant it was probably a Stark Special. Her wrist hurt like hell, even in the wrap, and she wasn't sure if she wanted good old ibuprofen and ice cream, or something new and interesting with possibly unknown side effects. 

"Take one now," the nurse directed. At her questioning look, the woman added, "You really think either of these two are going to leave you alone anytime soon? This way, you have someone nearby if you need anything."

"Or have an adverse reaction?" Darcy guessed.

The woman just shrugged. "We've yet to have a single patient have an issue with this one but, if you believe in yourself enough, I'm sure you could be the first."

Darcy resolutely didn't smile. She took the damn pill with the damn tiny cup of water and sighed. "Well, it could be worse," she reasoned. "I've got my nerdy best friend and an American Icon hovering over me. There are so many alternatives."

"Don't count those out just yet," Jane whispered, not even offended by the nerd comment.

Darcy's head shot up fully at that. Sure enough, the man who was currently dressed just like he preferred his coffee - black with no accoutrements - was at the information desk just outside the bank of elevators. "Fuck my life," she breathed.

It took barely a moment before he was at the edge of the little curtained area and the deep rumble of his voice asked, "You okay, doll? Steve said there was a delay getting Doc Foster because he was taking you to -" And there, that's when he saw it. The wrap, the bruises, the whole nine yards. His concerned expression melted to one of pure anger, possibly even rage, before he repeated Steve's earlier demand with far more scare factor. "What happened?"

"It's nothing," she insisted.

"Don't look like nothing," he countered. He picked up her wrist and cradled it between his hands with a deceiving gentleness. She had seen him crush actual buildings, brick and steel structures, with those things, yet he was so very careful with her.

"It's done. It's over with. No need to ready for battle or any of that crap, I swear," she told him.

"There was an ex-boyfriend that made hands at her. He didn't break her wrist, but the door she fell into nearly did the job," Steve readily recited. She glared at him, but he didn't notice, face buried in his phone. Probably trying to look up Douche Bag's info. She never did buy that Rogers was inept with tech; he had figured out way too much way too quickly to be stupid.

There was a growl, an actual growl, and it drew her attention back to the man still cradling her arm. "I need-" he started, but she cut in before he could rev up and get his Soldier on.

"You need to make me some lunch and a hot chocolate the size of my face. They gave me drugs. Who knows what they'll do on an empty stomach? I sure don't want to find out, right?" she babbled. If he was feeling protective, maybe she could divert that energy into care-taking instead ass-kicking. Added bonus that maybe she'd get a cuddle out of it. She had managed to worm her way into one once during a movie night and it was so worth it - and that wasn't even counting how it led to the coffee date. The arms, the warmth, the smell of his leather gear that somehow imbued even a simple t-shirt? Worth it.

She knew he was exchanging looks with Steve over the top of her head, but she also knew he had fallen for it. Once Jane stopped rolling her eyes, it was decided they would grab her a spare oversized sweatshirt that were apparently kept on hand pretty much everywhere - and wow was she going to abuse that for her wardrobe - and go down to the common area. Bucky would wrangle her up some food and Jane would poke at the data while stealing from her plate. Win-win overall.

Or so she thought.

Common area meant others might be there. Others meant well-meaning but possibly unhinged super hero assassins. True, said super hero assassins were currently having a slap fight over what appeared to be Clint making a peanut butter and Capt'n Crunch sandwich while Natasha tried to steal Fritos from his plate, but she really rather would have preferred to avoid the others all together. She wasn't a hero like them, she was data monkey for a scientist that happened to be dating one of them and therefore, somehow, had gotten scooped up into their realm of "not bad people" that they occasionally would treat as being was worthy of their time. Steve had said she represented what they were fighting for, Bucky had said she was hot, and Clint had said she was the only one who understood his choice of pizza toppings. Somehow, this meant they called her friend. 

It was weird, but she really didn't want to question it. They were nice, sweet people who could kill her with a toothpick and just happened to like the way she made chocolate chip cookies.

Whatever she was expecting of them, it was not for Clint to pout and say, "This is sad, Nat, just sad. How is Darce supposed to make me cookies if she can't lift the pan?"

Natasha stole another chip and answered, "She could have you do all the heavy lifting? Maybe you could earn them instead of just stealing them."

"I'm not giving you my Nana's secret recipe," Darcy told them both. She pulled up a seat at the counter and eyed the bag of Fritos on the other side. Why Natasha was tormenting Clint by stealing them from his plate when the bag was right there was beyond her.

"We're spies, we could get it out of you," Natasha said easily enough.

Bucky slid the bag of chips within her reach and narrowed his eyes when he said, "But you won't."

"Nah," Clint agreed. "She can keep that secret; there's much more important ones to break her on anyway, like the name of the guy who screwed up her wrist."

"No!" Darcy protested at the same time Bucky said, "There will be no breaking of anything Darcy-related."

Natasha slapped Clint on the back of his shoulder and gave him a look. "Really, Barton, who needs a name when you can have a face?"

"Credit cards, Nat. Make him pay!" Clint whined and pretended to rub the bruise out of where she hit him.

Darcy was too busy objecting to the thought of bankrupting an idiot Douche Bag that it took her a stupidly long time to really connect what Natasha had just said. A connection made when the other woman idly pulled out a tablet and tossed a few screens up via the holo-projector. First was Darcy's own personnel file with her address highlighted, then a view of her building, then bright blue lines that she feared represented the electrical system or maybe internal cameras as she wasn't dumb enough to live in a place without basic security features.

Sure enough, it was the camera system. The footage cycled through until it reached a view familiar to her from being the hallway right outside her own apartment. That footage dialed back while she watched in horror. Seriously, it was scary how quickly Nat had found this all, save for the fact Darcy had a sneaking suspicion that she now knew what Steve had been doing on his phone earlier.

She saw herself appear, bag slung over her shoulder. Her mouth was moving, and she knew the words even if there was no sound. She was demanding Douche Bag get out, only she was using an only semi-derogatory version of his actual name to his face in an effort to be nice or coercive or such. He grabbed her arm, and she could hear his plea to give him another shot, even as he used a little too much force and slammed her back against the wall. Her bag had slid down her arm and she smacked him with it before she used the distraction of the ineffectual hit to kick him, unfortunately only hitting his upper thigh. She righted her bag, but he made another grab, this time knocking her against the door jamb to the open stairway. She winced in memory of the pain in her wrist that one had caused, but that wince turned into a tiny bit of a smirk when she saw herself turn around and nail the bastard right in the balls before she stormed away.

"See, handled," she told them.

"While we appreciate the demonstration of your self-defense abilities, the asshole went right back into your place afterwards," Clint pointed out. He reached over and hit a button, the images streaming by until the time stamp marked the present. "Doesn't look like he left yet either."

"We're signing you up for a class once your wrist heals," Natasha told her, closing down the images. "You got out of the situation, which is the most important thing, but were injured in the process. There's only so much damage a kick to a man's balls can do. You need backup methods in case this happens again. Hill holds weekly sessions for all interested employees, or we can look for alternatives if you prefer." 

"It's not happening again," she protested, wondering why her voice echoed and why that echo was far deeper than it had any right to be. She turned to find Bucky still staring at where the images had just played out and once again resisted the urge to bang her head on the counter at the pure death glare he wore on his face. "Bucky no," she tried.

"He laid hands on a woman and didn't take no for an answer," he said with a calmness that did absolutely nothing to actually calm her down.

"It's not like you're taking no for an answer right now either!" she countered. She blew a curl out of her face knowing it probably would have gotten caught in the wrap had she tried to push it away and ignored the hurt expression he now wore. "There will be no seeking of vengeance or bullshit like that. This is my life and I call the shots. No killing a guy for being stupid. No breaking a guy for being dumb. I'll go home, he'll apologize if he's even still there, and that'll be the end of it."

"It's not the end of it. Guys like him..." Bucky started, but trailed off when he glanced back over to her.

Jane, however, was not deterred by her glare. "If you truly thought that would be the end of it, you wouldn't have asked for a place to stay," she pointed out.

"Maybe I just wanted the pleasure of your company while I took down a bottle or two in the name of Douche Bags around the world. Did you ever think of that?" 

Absolutely no one fell for that though, to the point where Steve commented, "No one should be kicked out of their own home by an unwelcome guest."

It was Tony though, as in Tony For Really Stark whose presence she was still getting used to even more than Captain America’s and he was constantly poking around their lab, who settled everything. He wandered into the room as if oblivious to everything that was going on and announced, "Yeah, so the locksmith was an idiot and didn't even have bio-encryption as an option, so I'll be at your place around four. I know you usually take off at six, but I figured you’d talk your way home early today. Or we’d just give it to you. Should take an hour to set up, tops. Unless you want to go now? We can pick up some burgers along the way. Twenty should be enough for the posse that'll inevitably be joining us."

Which is how she found herself inhaling the scent of freshly grilled greasiness while surrounded by fricken Iron Man, Captain America, and the damned Winter Soldier as she stepped up to her home sweet minuscule apartment. She didn't see Clint or Natasha, but there were enough burgers for them as well, so she just assumed they blended in with a lamp post or something ridiculous like that. Jane, for her part, remained behind to look at the data and maybe keep Thor away as he was due back at any moment. Darcy could only imagine the farce her life would be if he joined in the fray.

Darcy fished out her keys from the bag no one would let her carry and unlocked the door that she knew was only locked so that Douche Bag would have a warning as to her arrival. Sure enough, as soon as she popped the deadbolt, she found him waiting on the other side, a bottle of her beer in hand. It was even the good stuff. "Look, I know this morning didn't go well, but-" he started, but never got to finish that thought.

Stark barged right in before she even stepped through the door, eying her place critically and tsking, "Seriously, Lewis, I think I have closets bigger than this. No, wait, I know I do. You wanna live in one of them? I'll knock out a wall and make you a window. One that doesn't look over a back alley."

"What the hell, Darce? Who the fuck are these people?" Douche Bag protested. It reminded her she really did need to have higher standards with regards to intelligence. He was pretty, like a solid eight, but brains-wise was far closer to a four. The eight was looking rough next to her current company as well, but she had learned not to judge people against such examples of humanity as that could only lead to sadness.

Steve handed Bucky her bag and entered the little area in front of the kitchen fully. He drew himself up to his full height and used his "Cap is Disappointed in your Life Choices" voice to declare, "Jeffrey Timothy Lyons, I believe you were asked to vacate this property earlier today."

"Who the fuck are you?" Douche Bag demanded. The four was slipping to a three.

Steve raised a very unimpressed eyebrow in his direction.

Douche Bag was undeterred. Mainly because he was not bright enough to be. He ignored the hulking man in front of him - which reminded her that she was grateful Bruce was on sabbatical - and turned to her instead to ask, "What's with the posse, D? I've been hitting you up for a three-way for, like, ever, but you keep turning me down. 'Sides, guys really aren't my thing. Now, if you're looking for a gang-"

He never got a chance to finish that thought, what with the way Bucky's arm now held him up against the wall by his throat. "Apologize to the lady," Barnes said in a way that was probably calm for him as there was only minimal growl.

Douche Bag just really did not know when to stop. "I can say whatever I want to my bit-, er, girlfriend," he protested.

"I broke up with you four months ago! After only three dates! What the hell is wrong with you?" Darcy exclaimed. Part of her felt bad for not insisting Bucky release the guy, but it was only a small part so she decided to ignore it for now. She had given him a second chance after a disastrous first date, and then technically gave him a second-second chance when he showed up with pizza and beer two nights after that. He had seemed more interested in her big screen tv and the game than her though, so she had kicked him to the curb, blocked his number, and thought that was that.

"Leave. Now." Bucky was getting monosyllabic, which was never a good sign. He had let up the pressure in the guy's trachea though, and even stepped back to give him access to the door.

Douche Bag took a step closer to her as soon as he was able and she foolishly thought he was going to apologize, right up until he glared at her and said, "I'll come back after you have your fun with these three losers, show you what a real man is like."

Her slap across his face echoed in the suddenly very quiet apartment. She was just happy she had remembered to use her left hand given that her right was in its fancy brace and probably would have hurt like hell. The drugs were good, but not that good. "Get out. The next time I see you even breathe in my direction, I'm calling the police," she told him. Her heart was racing, her voice a little on the breathless side, but it was pure anger and not a drop of fear or remorse.

He lunged at her then, but didn't make it far. Technically he didn't even get a full lunge in. He was held in place by his own shirt, arms flailing and feet kicking a good six inches off of the floor. "Don't, son," was all Steve said. The dork didn't even look like he was straining against the tug and pull of a full sized human male trying to get away from him.

“Let me go!” Douche Bag hollered. Well, hollered as much as he could with his collar solidly beneath his jawline.

“You gonna leave the nice lady alone?” Bucky asked with a fair deal of menace.

“Show me a ‘nice lady’ and I’ll-” 

Douche Bag did not get to finish that thought. Mainly because Steve used his free hand - yes, he was totally showing off and holding the guy singlehandedly - to turn the idiot’s face towards where Darcy still fumed. “There. Right there is a nice lady. One you’ll be apologizing to shortly,” he told him.

Of course Douche Bag wouldn't follow directions. Instead, he looked to Darcy and pleaded, “Call your boy off!”

Darcy snorted. “Steve is not my boy, dumbass. Seriously, you’ve got me questioning why I ever said yes to the first date if you're this stupid,” she mused. Not that she didn't appreciate the pretty that was Cap, but that pretty was not hers to claim.

Steve still held the guy by the chin, and turned him to look in a different direction. “See that guy over there?” He waited for the stunted nod. “That's her boy, or at least he'd really like to be. So it’s not me you'd have to worry about. Sure, I hate bullies, but Buck? Buck takes things real personally…”

She wasn't positive what else he said, other than it looked like Douche Bag was about to piss himself, because she glanced over to man in question and let out an exasperated, “For fuck’s sake, put the knife away! Where did you even get that thing?”

Bucky barely blinked. He did pause in his action of apparently cleaning his nails with a damned Bowie knife, but he didn't even try to look apologetic. Instead, he stepped closer a wrapped his arm around her, metal knuckles glinting in the low light of her kitchen, blade still held casually in hand, and suggested, “I think you should leave. Now.”

“But, uh, um… my stuff?” Douche Bag stuttered. He glanced behind him to where various crap lay all mingled in with her own. He had certainly made himself at home in the short time he had been there.

She wasn't sure if she was feeling generous or just mean when she offered, “You have exactly two minutes to gather all your trash and get out of here. Anything left over I'll ship to your mom’s - do you still live in her basement or did you get a place of your own yet? Whatever, Sandy should still have her address, it'll go there.” She didn't wait for him to respond, only glanced at her wrist with its nonexistent watch and said, “Two minutes. Starting now.” 

Steve released him and he rushed to the other room where he started shoving anything and everything into a backpack he had left on the couch. She didn't see a reason to hide her amusement considering Mr. American Icon didn't hide his, and instead counted down the seconds. At one hundred and fifteen, Douche Bag was out the door, one shoe unlaced and the other not even fully on, bag unzipped and leaving a trail of detritus behind him.

“Nat will make sure he didn't take anything of yours,” Steve told her as if it was a forgone conclusion. He seemed relaxed, posture all casual-like again, even if there was still a fair amount of tension around his eyes, especially whenever he would glance at her wrapped up wrist - which was quite often.

Ignoring him for now, she turned to address her other concern. Bucky quickly lowered his arm and his knife disappeared to places unknown in the blink of an eye. “I, uh, didn't mean to seem so forward. I just…” he said, trailing off to look everywhere but at her.

“Having some fun with an idiot?” she finished for him. It earned her a small smile, even if he still looked unsure of himself. “You and me have some talking to do. Lots of it. Most revolving around this whole wanting to be my ‘boy’ I believe it was called? But first? Burgers. Those suckers are getting cold and I am starving.”

The burgers were, in truth, still perfectly salvageable. Stark had put them into some random bag from whatever car he had chosen and it apparently kept the temp pretty decently well. Whatever. She was not asking why he had made such a thing let alone why it was in his car. She had learned not to question these oddities as it only led to headaches.

The assassi-duo came in a short time later and shoveled down their fair share. They weren't talking, but both looked far too pleased with themselves. She hadn't heard anything, sirens or otherwise, so she hoped they hadn't done anything too extreme.

Eventually, her curiosity got the better of her and she asked, “Please say you didn't break him?” They hadn't exactly promised, but she had made her wishes clear.

“Of course not,” Natasha replied, the picture of innocence. 

It took her a good ten minutes to realize it was entirely possible Nat was refusing to answer as much as was denying breakage. A glance in her direction showed there was no way she was getting an answer out of her, so Darcy turned to Clint and raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to get with the program. He didn't, either dense or playing at it, so she huffed, “Did you or did you not harm Douche Bag in anyway? Know also that the ‘you’ in that sentence is plural and that I expect answers at threat of withholding cookies.”

“We did not break him,” Clint promised after swallowing yet another bite. She seriously did not know how so much could fit into him. He paused though before he smirked, “We put the fear of a god into him, that's all.”

Okay, so intimidation, they were spy assassins after all, it made a sort of sense. And then her brain caught up with what he said. “Shit,” she cursed, wondering if she was slow from the meds in her system or just naïveté. “You totally involved Thor.”

“Of course not,” Natasha waved her off. The innocent look was a thing of the past when she glibly stole one of Clint's fries and said, “He did that himself.”

Darcy cursed. Profusely. Possibly creatively if the looks she was receiving were anything to go by. Tony reached over and put a fifty dollar bill in front of her with a comment of, “Yeah, a buck for that swear jar of yours ain't going to cut it there, missy. You might need this as a loaner.”

She took the money because she was not stupid. Also, Stark had a habit of thanking her with Grants. He told her the fifties would keep coming until she got a grant of a different kind on her own. Usually it was followed by yet another job offer from a competitor followed by her turning them down followed by her paycheck being a fair deal larger than she remembered signing up for and they had only moved in a few months ago.

Clint cut into her thoughts with the defense of, “Big guy stopped by right before you slapped the idiot. We talked him down from vengeance of his own and explained to him that you handled it yourself and would request assistance if needed. Hinted that it would be an affront to you to further the violence without your permission.”

“Thank you,” she said, and meant it right up until she realized the missing Thor-sized piece of the puzzle. “And he’s not here now because…” she prompted.

“Because he may have, possibly, seen us vet out some non-violent vengeance of our own,” Clint said as if it were nothing. As a less than quiet aside to the avidly listening Steve and Bucky, he added, “Wouldn't ride that bike of his anytime soon if I were him. Just plain unsafe with all those loose gears and the tires so low on air.”

Natasha faked a look of surprise. “Oh, such a shame. Especially with that hole in the radiator of his Civic. The bike would have at least gotten him to a station to get a tow.”

Darcy hung her head. “And he couldn't call for a tow because…”

Natasha tsked with absolutely no sympathy. “You know Thor and those random energy fields Mjolnir puts out. Fried that outdated phone right down to the circuits.”

“And again I ask why Mr. God of Thunder isn't here scarfing a burger?”

“I think he plans to make it rain directly on the rat the entire way back to the sewer he crawled out of,” Clint said proudly.

“How is this my life?” she asked the air around her. She finally gave in and tried to bang her head on the table, but found a hand attempting to provide a cushion instead. Not that metal was any softer than formica, but it was the thought that counted.

“Well, a long time ago the Norns - I have it on good authority that they’re like the Fates but blonder and with a love of runes - decided that…” Bucky started. He was quoting her. He was fucking quoting her. A drunk her from a movie night three weeks ago. She didn't know whether she should be touched that he chose that as something to remember, or just annoyed.

She turned to make sure he could see her roll her eyes at him, metal far smoother than she would have imagined as it lightly scraped across her forehead. “Really?” she asked drily.

“You could question that authority but, seeing as it was you, that'd just be weird,” he readily nodded. He was grinning, honest to fuck grinning at her. It wasn't fair. Either was the fact that good ol’ wholesome Steve Rogers seemed to be enjoying this just as much if the twinkle in his eye was anything to go by.

Stark was never one to sit still for long and had started to wander around her place right after she pocketed his money. She had a feeling this was not going to end well for her. “Is that radiator heat?” he asked as though personally affronted.

“Yeah, it’s great for drying bras on so don't go looking at the one in my bedroom,” she warned. Steve blushed at that, but Bucky turned his head too quickly to see if he matched.

She wasn't sure if Stark even heard her, really. “Radiator heat, windows with thumb-locks, a tub that might be older than the two team grandpas…” he muttered. He turned to her with a seriously unimpressed look in his eyes. “While I can appreciate you actually have access to a fire escape, the fact someone could use it as a back door with these locks is a little troubling.”

“My building is perfectly up to code,” she protested.

Now he was just pointedly ignoring her. “Ally of an ally, easily justify the improvements. Might have a fight with the property owner, unless I just bought it outright and then I could outfit it any way I want.”

“Wouldn't it be cheaper just to have her move into the tower?” Clint asked.

Stark raised an eyebrow at him and reminded everyone present of a fact they never forgot: “It’s not like I'm hard up for cash, Barton. Besides, I could use it to test a few prototypes, check to see if they are commercially feasible. Pepper would love it.”

“Yeah, but then she'd only have to sneak back to her own floor once they get with the program and not be taking a train or shit - safety, man, safety,” Clint argued.

Darcy glared, even though said glare did not seem to deter Clint’s apparent glee. “Can someone whose arm is not currently in a cast please thwack him for me?” she asked.

Natasha obliged, mainly because both Steve and Bucky were far too pure or something to understand what he had been getting at. She nodded her thanks as Clint rubbed his arm and complained about how hard she had hit him. 

“You’d rather the Twenties Twosome have a shot at you?” Tony offered.

Clint vehemently shook his head and she decided to toss in her own, “Besides, who's to say he wouldn't be leaving here at all hours instead?”

“Well, for one, the walls here aren't nearly as soundproofed as the ones at the tower. Unless that's one of the things you’re looking to-” Clint started, but never got to finish the thought. Bucky had finally caught on to the less than virtuous undertones of the conversation and interrupted by skidding his chair back across the linoleum.

“Go get ‘em, tiger!” Stark cackled.

“No! Down, tiger, down!” Darcy cut in. 

To her surprise, Bucky quickly released Clint from a hold eerily similar to what he had used on Douche Bag earlier. He offered a less than amused glare, but that was about it. Well, so she thought until he did the deep growly voice thing and warned, “You will mind your manners when there is a lady present…”

“Hey, Darce, he called you a lady! That’s got to be-”

The hold was back, this time with a plea of, “D, Cap, whoever, call off your dog!”

“Tiger,” she and Stark corrected at the same time.

“Whatever - Cap?”

Steve didn't even deign to look up. “Sorry, was reading this interesting article and must have missed something,” he said drily as he adjusted the newspaper in front of him. It was open to the daily crossword puzzle and was also upside down. 

“Forty-two across is apology,” Natasha helpfully supplied.

“I apologize! You know I'd never dis Darcy like that, not for real!” he insisted. He caught himself on the edge of the table when he was abruptly released and made a show of cracking his neck back and forth while feeling for bruises. She doubted he was ever in any trouble in the first place since he had been able to talk and breathe freely the entire time, unlike Douche Bag.

“Too afraid of her paramour?” Stark teased.

Barton shook his head. “She has an unholy love of her taser and tends to wear steel-toed boots. I’m not stupid, man.”

Natasha waved her hand in front of her as if to express that the last part was questionable, but patted his arm in consolation after he righted his chair and sat back down again. It was Stark though, who asked, “Wait, if you have a taser, why didn't you use it against He Who Shall Not Be Named?”

Darcy shrugged, feeling the ache in her wrist start to edge up past her elbow to her shoulder. “Against code in New York. Also, I didn't need him peeing himself in my apartment when I hit him with it, if it was even still charged.”

“I'll see what I can do as a work around,” Stark promised absently. She was smart enough not to question a rich genius wanting to give her a dubiously legal version of her favorite toy. Unfortunately, she wasn't smart enough to hide a wince and a yawn from a group of hyper-aware super heroes.

It was Steve that cleared his threat pointedly and suggested, “Why don't we let Ms. Lewis rest? It's been an eventful day.”

“Plus these pain pills are making me sleepy more than anything else,” she agreed. Normally she would have objected to his suggesting decisions for her but, given her day and the crap she currently felt like, she gave him a pass.

She let the others clean up the trash and didn't even try to hide a smile at Bucky giving a half-assed excuse of making sure he was there if she needed anything or if Douche Bag was dumb enough to return. Instead, she watched them file out, promised to watch the video Stark sent on how to work the new lock he had come up with, and headed for the couch.

“Nuh-uh,” Bucky protested. “Good girls take their second dose of pain meds and sleep in a real bed.

She did as requested, mainly because he had puppy dog eyes that rivaled Steve's. She kicked off her shoes and flopped down onto her bed, letting him tuck her comforter gently around her. If she found amusement in the way he studiously ignored the radiator with its drapery, as well as the pile of clothing she never had gotten around to folding, she kept that to herself. Of course it wasn't simple leggings or sweaters on top.

“I'll be here when you wake up,” he promised. He even gave her a little kiss on the forehead that she decided was too cute for words. She was going to have so much fun corrupting him someday. Not now though, as now was for sleep and dreams of Douche Bags getting what they deserved.

She awoke four hours later to the smell of takeout and a new renter’s agreement under her door. Bucky clicked off the news which had been showing stock footage of the Iron Man suit streaming by and had the scrolling marquee of “Avengers close surprise portal over West Manhattan” to look up at her and smile at what she knew had to be a truly rumpled state. Apparently Jane really had been needed after all, or likely her research at least came in handy when the sucker opened about an hour before if the time stamp she had glimpsed at was to be believed. The clean up should involve weeks of data crunching, and possibly cake.

“How you doing?” he asked as though he had nothing better to do than babysit her versus charging into glory with the others. 

“Still tired,” she admitted. She motioned to the now dark screen and asked, “Anything major happen while I was out?”

“Nah,” he smiled. “Just the usual.” He led her over to the couch and offered her a box of lo mein and a pair of chopsticks. She looked down to her still bandaged wrist and raised a doubting eyebrow. She was nowhere near that ambidextrous.

He didn't seem deterred in the least. He simply took them for himself and expertly spun the noodles around to offer her a bite. “For real?” she asked with her mouth full of savory goodness. She glanced down at the carton because this was better than her usual go-to place, which was always knowledge to have.

His smile dimmed the tiniest of bits when he offered, “I could get you a fork?”

She swallowed her bite and pretended to ponder that for a moment. “Well, darn, I seem to be all out of those,” she mock sighed.

The grin was back, as was an arm wrapped securely around her shoulder despite the weird angle to manage the food. She was pretty much sitting in his lap at this point, and he really didn't seem to care. “I think we can make do, doll, don't you?”

She looked to the next bite already on offer, at the lights and sirens streaming by outside, and at the casual way he draped himself around her and she melted into him in turn. “Yeah, I think we’ll do just fine,” she agreed.

He prepped another bite and whispered a promise of, “I’m going to try to make sure you never have reason to call me anything but my name.”

“Not even sweetie?” she baited.

“Not really a sweet guy, doll,” he pointed out.

“Stud muffin? Baby bear? Assassi-cutie?” she tried, just to get the huff of amusement that made her hair tickle her right behind her ear when he breathed out a negative. She chewed and swallowed and then, quieter than before, offered, “How about mine?”

When he nearly dropped the chopsticks, she knew she had a winner.

 

End.


End file.
